By our filly with her finger on the pierced belly button of Teen Culture,
Keli McTaggart

When my sweet 12-year-old sis started raggin' this
month she was not far short of being a polite and innocent little angel,
much like me really, only not half as cute. So you can imagine my horror
when instead of learning the essentials of being a woman like knowing
how to match blusher and lip gloss and choosing well wicked frocks, she
discovered ringtones and has turned into a well-minging rude Chav

Rude little Chavs are overrunning this friggin'
country; they speak their own lingo, have their own religion and wear
totally skanked out, grungy gear. They must be stopped. Why? Coz if
they're allowed to breed the entire human race is going straight down
the friggin' toilet!

I blame the polyphonic ringtones she's started downloading from the
Net. I reckon they've cut off the blood supply to what remains of her
tiny brain. I swear if I hear 'Baby Cakes' or 'Don't Phunk with my heart'
one more time I will strangle the little cow with her own designer
thong! Since she became a well-minging Chav slagette, Nate's whole
life has been reduced to a mindless urge to rebel and be dead cool—sorry,
'Well bangin' innit.' First she started listening to thrash metallosers like Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park, then
she discovered 'really fit Buffs', and now she's taken to wearing dayglo,
baggy pants and hooded tops plastered with massive, utterly naff logos.
If that wasn't bad enough, last week I caught the dirty little kaka-slapper
in the toilet wanking herself senseless with our mum's electric
toothbrush. Why can't she use a bloody rabbit like a normal person?
Now she wants to put cheap, gold bling in her friggin' belly button
and get a tattoo on her spotty arse!

When she heard I was writing this article about her, she texted me
with a message that would have made Shakespeare give up writing plays
and marry his sister.
"Oi i herd yu ws chattin shit to ppl on da net about us chavs been
lower class dan u if we are lower than u y do we wear more than one
colour and dont spunk our fukn money on sm grunging dress and shitty
stilletoes u wanna take a look in the mirror grrl and see y u never
get no fit buffs coz u got fuck all talent an look like shit shout out
dis chavzee."

See what I mean? Oh, don't worry if you didn't understand a word of
it; it was all complete and utter bollocks anyway. Now Nate's out every
weekend with other 'hot chavzees' hanging outside places of great Chav
religious importance like MacDonalds and JD Sports, in massive, So Solid
Crew type groups all wearing identical white Rockport trainers, baggy
Nicholson track suits, and more rattling gold chains than Hamlet's Ghost.

Chavs engage in bizarre rituals such as playing ring tones on their
sacred Nokia 3G mobes, blagging fags off dirty old geezers in exchange
for a quick grope, painting their nails in the most hideous colours
and seeing who can masturbate the longest with their Harry
Potter brooms without cumming. These are the thoroughly rude grrlz
that think Limp Bizkit is 'fit', Girls Aloud 'kick ass' and Holly Valance
demands ‘respek’. You don't know Holly? You're not missing
much. Nate thinks the belly-baring sheila from down under is 'majestik'.
The dozy kaka-slapper probably doesn't know the nasty
little cum guzzler admitted to phone sex before blowing her rep
by slagging off Brit blokes for making her gag!

There is no hope for my little baby sis any longer; she is lost to
the mindless world of polyphonic ringtones, cheap bling, designer labels,
thrash metal and well-minging pop tarts. Though it may not be too late
to save yours; just say no to ringtones!

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